Distance, the sole aim,
Far away from anyone she ever knew
Some sugar, some spice
Some difference
Something erratic and unpredictable
Unseen to her eyes, unheard of to her ears,
A newness, to contrast the
Monotony that is routine.
Perhaps a thrill of people actually
Missing her presence,
Couple with an anonymity,
An emancipation from having to
Conform
To the rules of where she belonged.
The runaway face of a vagabond,
Searching, searching for somewhere
To trash the label that
People had already plastered to her identity.
Masked under a smile,
Prepared to be whoever she wanted
To be;
Finally fulfilling dreams
That were otherwise shackled
By chains of her own ipseity,
By words she never said
But were quoted as hers anyways.
The runaway face of a stranger now,
Tasting tears that those who loved her
Would shed in her memory.
She revelled in this finality,
This realisation that hit them now
That she was gone.
As though a hidden price tag had been revealed
As though a number had just been scanned from a
Barcode,
For her real worth hadn’t been comprehended
By those who saw the bars of the cryptogram
As mere lines
Of varying width (moods),
Wholly existing amidst
The conventional, yet strangely unattainable
Black and white
That was her, and her alone,
But had now morphed
As distinct colours of a
Different kind of light into
The runaway face of a lone victor.
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 7:42 AM UTC
Distance, the sole aim,
Far away from anyone she ever knew
Some sugar, some spice
Some difference
Something erratic and unpredictable
Unseen to her eyes, unheard of to her ears,
A newness, to contrast the
Monotony that is routine.
Perhaps a thrill of people actually
Missing her presence,
Couple with an anonymity,
An emancipation from having to
Conform
To the rules of where she belonged.
The runaway face of a vagabond,
Searching, searching for somewhere
To trash the label that
People had already plastered to her identity.
Masked under a smile,
Prepared to be whoever she wanted
To be;
Finally fulfilling dreams
That were otherwise shackled
By chains of her own ipseity,
By words she never said
But were quoted as hers anyways.
The runaway face of a stranger now,
Tasting tears that those who loved her
Would shed in her memory.
She revelled in this finality,
This realisation that hit them now
That she was gone.
As though a hidden price tag had been revealed
As though a number had just been scanned from a
Barcode,
For her real worth hadn’t been comprehended
By those who saw the bars of the cryptogram
As mere lines
Of varying width (moods),
Wholly existing amidst
The conventional, yet strangely unattainable
Black and white
That was her, and her alone,
But had now morphed
As distinct colours of a
Different kind of light into
The runaway face of a lone victor.